When Routine Bites Hard

I'm not one for routine. I do not have a daily game plan, I don't follow much of a schedule. I guess sleeping in the same bed every night and having a stove top espresso first thing in the morning is the most routine in my life.

The other morning I woke up and enjoyed a delicious Martini. Vodka please, ice cold, just a little bit dirty and straight up. That's how I drink them. I usually have them in the early evening, but when I woke this particular morning I went to the spot in the kitchen where the coffee station is set up and without thinking mixed a Martini, turned on the A.M. news, sat back and drank my Martini.

When I finished I was drunk. It was about 7:30 in the morning and I was drunk. See the problem is this. The coffee stuff in our kitchen is at one end of the counter and the cocktail stuff is at the other. The night before Stacey cleaned the Martini shaker and placed it at the coffee station. So I called her at work to discuss it. She SAID she just made a mistake, but I was drunk and thought otherwise. Yes, I was drunk and she was mad and that made me mad cause as far as I was concerned it was her fault. I told her, talking like I had a mouth full of marbles, I told her "you can't put the shaker next to the coffee and not expect the worst". She just hung up on me. So I called her back. She threatened to kill me when she got home and hung up on me. So I called her back. She threatened to never come home and hung up on me. So I called her back. I called her back 20 times that day. She said she would divorce me and take all my money and hung up on me. I called her back and told her "bring it on, I ain't scared and all I got is twenty dollars".

When Stacey got home that evening I made sure to have a nice cold cocktail waiting for her.

Holeman Finch Public House

Saturday afternoon Stacey and I ate at HF, which has been one of the hottest spots in Atlanta for a little over a year now. It's in Buckhead, part of the Restaurant Eugene empire. Like usual it was a great meal made from small plates, a really wonderful way to eat if you ask me. One gets to try many different dishes at one sitting.

HF also specializes in cocktails. Cocktails at HF are treated with the same care given to the food. The Bar Chefs, 3 of them are the owners/operators at HF, are the best in the industry. Mixers are made fresh everyday, the best ingredients are sourced out, same as food and the drinks are mixed with the care and preciseness of a chemist.

Here is what we enjoyed at HF last Saturday.

DRINKS

Resurgens Cocktail - peach infused rye whiskey, Noilly Prat Sweet Vermouth + house made cola bitters

The Usual - Amaro Cio Ciaro, fresh grapfruit, Regan's orange bitters + sparkling gruner veltliner

A bottle of Duck Rabbitt Porter

Dogfish Head IPA on tap

FOOD

Roasted Veal Sweetbreads
arugula with hog jowl and brown butter

Fried Rabbit Livers
soft grits and chow chow

Roasted Mussels
cream sauce with pork belly and bread

Cornmeal Fried Oysters
adam's family remoulade and lemon

Pork Belly Sliders
with summer garden slaw

COCKTAIL TABLE

I got the idea to build this table after a visit to the gallery that is known as Space 301. Space 301 is located in beautiful downtown Mobile, Alabama. The space recently underwent a renovation and is a great place to see art. We enjoyed a Mose T show there a couple years ago. I think there was something like 300 plus pieces of Mose T art for this show and I looked at everyone of them. Twice. This show was a sight to behold. I must not have been writing this blog at the time or else I would have already written about the awesome Mose T show. (thank you Ann Bedsole)

Anyway, not long ago we found ourselves in Mobile, just hanging out with my sister and her son. Sunday morning not to early, but before the grits went on the stove, we decided to go to the the Space 301 gallery. I had just picked up the paper at Roper St and read about a show which sounded very interesting, but kinda of cuckoo.

The name for this show was Imagillaboration: Collaborative Sculpture Project.

A guy named Michael Cottrell who is a professor at Florida Community College in Jacksonville, Florida got together 106 professional artist and broke them down into regional groups. Each artist from each group started a sculpture then passed it to another artist in their group. They each worked on every piece in their group. They worked on the sculptures for 18 months. Then Cottrell pick out pieces and put together this show. Brilliant idea, right? I liked it.

A lot of the pieces were assembled with found objects. Some old rusty stuff, some new parts, ceramics, metal, wood, rope and lots more was used. Most of the show was a pleasure to look at. It got me to thinking, again, about all the stuff I have in my 2000 sq ft work shop. I got rope and metal and wood, I got rusty stuff and all kinds of stuff to make a nice sculpture from. This always happens when I see a show like this, makes me want to assemble old stuff.

Well, I didn't really make a sculpture, but I did use old wood and old, rusty metal disc to make a cocktail table.

I picked out these 3 pieces of wood from the pile.

The flat long piece I ripped down the middle and made an apron from it. From the red piece and the longer post with the rough end I made four legs. I cleaned the post up by running then through my table saw and taking off a little bit from each side. Then I cut 4 legs to 18" each with a 15 degree angle on each end of each leg. The 15 degrees is a good angle for splayed legs. I also used a piece of plywood for a sub-top that will not be seen.

So then I had this, an upside down cocktail table undercarriage.

So then I took 3 rusty disc that appeared to be the tops from 50 gallon barrels, like these.

I cleaned them a little, sanded off some rust and made sure the edges were not sharp. Then I took old wood bolts and large washers and attached the disc to the undercarriage through holes I had drilled in the disc. I painted the apron red and distressed the paint. I just sanded the legs down, no stain, just clear coat. I sprayed the whole table with protective clear coating about three times and there you have it.

Your A Redneck If......

1. You take your dog for a walk and you both use the same tree.
2. You can entertain yourself for more than 15 minutes with a fly swatter.
3. Your boat has not left the driveway in 15 years.
4. You burn your yard rather than mow it.
6. The Salvation Army declines your furniture.
7. You offer to give someone the shirt off your back and they don't want it.
8. You have the local taxidermist on speed dial.
9. You come back from the dump with more than you took.
10. You keep a can of Raid on the kitchen table.
11. Your wife can climb a tree faster than your cat.
12. Your grandmother has 'ammo' on her Christmas list.
13. You keep flea and tick soap in the shower.
14. You've been involved in a custody fight over a hunting dog.
15. You go to the stock car races and don't need a program.
16. You know how many bales of hay your car will hold.
17. You have a rag for a gas cap.
18. Your house doesn't have curtains, but your truck does.
19. You wonder how service stations keep their rest-rooms so clean.
20.. You can spit without opening your mouth.
21. You consider your license plate personalized because your father made it.
22. Your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand.
23. You have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say 'Cool Whip' on the side.
24. The biggest city you've ever been to is Wal-Mart.
25. Your working TV sits on top of your non-working TV.
26. You've used your ironing board as a buffet table.
27. A tornado hits your neighborhood and does $100,000 worth of improvements.
28. You've used a toilet brush to scratch your back.
29. You missed your 5th grade graduation because you were on jury duty.
30. You think fast food is hitting a deer at 65.

COMMENTS NOW BEING ACCEPTED, SORRY FOR THE DELAY

ECCO

Stacey and I bid on a $75 gift card at a fund raiser not long ago and won. The card was good at any one of the five restaurants owned and operated by the Fifth Group. They are South City Kitchen, 2 locations, La Tavola, Original El Taco and ECCO. They had The Food Studio at one time, it was a very good restaurant and the decor was great. I would say that's a trade mark of the Fifth Group restaurants, very nice design. I haven't been in La Tavola, but the others are nice. I especially like Ecco, it hits you right away. The entrance is beautiful. Two huge doors surrounded by towering glass, wood and steel. The lighting just pours out, making the whole place glow. The dinning room is wide open and is flanked on one side by a bright and shiny kitchen. The food was as good as the view, and it was not over priced at all.

I had vodka martinis, they were good

Lil Lady had TDYNHB formerly known as “The Drink You’ve Never Had Before.” Maker’s Mark, vanilla syrup and fresh raspberries topped with fizzy Session Lager.

Piquillo peppers stuffed with mushrooms, sherry and manchego.

Grilled squid with crushed olives.

Fried goat cheese, honey and black pepper.

Roasted shrimp, tomato, fennel and almond.

The only dish that disappointed was the one push hardest by the waitron and that was the Fried goat cheese, honey and black pepper. I don't remember what it was, but the dish just didn't work. Everything else was really good. My favorite was the Grilled squid with crushed olives. It was the best squid I've ever had. It was big, it was grilled perfectly and the texture was just the way I like.
The crushed olives is a great idea and something we will start adding to dishes we make at home. Crushed olives would work great with lot's of food. Oh, Stacey loved the TDYNHB and yes you read correctly, it had both beer and bourbon.

Teacher Man

My sister, who is a high school teacher, and I were talking about the death of Frank McCourt. He died a few days ago. She was telling me her book club was reading Angela's Ashes and she was really enjoying it. Today I read this article in the NY Times and wondered if she knew he was a high school teacher for 30 years. From this article I would say he really reached some of those kids. I wish I would have had a teacher like him when I was in school.
Check it out.

By ERIC KONIGSBERG

Published: July 20, 2009

His former students will tell you that Frank McCourt, who died Sunday, was too attuned to the false note ever to declare, once he had become a huge success as an author, that he missed teaching high school. Even so, he spent three decades as a teacher of English and creative writing in New York City’s public schools. And he was the first to say that those years, while depriving him of the time actually to write, were what made a writer out of him. He had long been retired by 1996, when his first book, “Angela’s Ashes,” was published.

Mr. McCourt began teaching in 1958, when he was 28, at Ralph R. McKee Vocational High School on Staten Island, and from 1972 to 1987 taught at Stuyvesant High School, a highly selective school, then on East 15th Street in Manhattan. His students learned from him that literature was nothing more — and nothing less — than the telling of stories.

Of course he made his students dip into the canon; they learned to write from reading Swift, Joyce, Hawthorne, Hemingway and Flannery O’Connor. But, as many of them have said, the most inspired and inspiring hours spent in his classroom were devoted to listening to him share experiences from his own life.

“A lot of the class was him telling tales and telling them over and over,” said Alissa Quart, an author and a 2009 Nieman Fellow at Harvard who was Mr. McCourt’s student during her freshman year at Stuyvesant, in 1985-86. “He used to sort of recite from memory the stories that became ‘Angela’s Ashes.’ ”

The book, an international best seller many times over and winner of the Pulitzer Prize, chronicled Mr. McCourt’s sad, impoverished childhood in Ireland.

As the news of Mr. McCourt’s death spread, hundreds of admirers, including many former students, posted their recollections on nytimes.com. They talked about his influence as a teacher, meeting him or hearing him read, and the joy that his books had delivered.

“Frank was the Lou Reed of high school English, sending writers, chroniclers and those with memory out into the world aware and ready to savor experience for its own sake, long before he ever took pen to paper to compose his now famous trilogy,” one commenter who identified himself as a Stuyvesant alumnus wrote, referring to the old line that the Velvet Underground’s first album sold 10,000 copies, and started as many bands.

A former student, Kwana Jackson, now a writer of romance novels, provided evidence to support this. She called Mr. McCourt “one my personal heroes,” and linked to her blog, where she wrote of his class: “It was where I started to really love the written word and started to crave the writer’s life. Only Mr. McCourt could make suffering desirable. Hell, you were going to suffer in this life anyway you might as well do it doing something you love.”

Dan Coleman, who studied with Mr. McCourt at Stuyvesant and returned to teach Mr. McCourt’s writing course during the 1990s, said students also heard stories less tragic than those from his childhood about Mr. McCourt’s life as a single man. (He was married three times.) “He would come in and tell us, in his beautiful brogue, charming, hilarious stories about how he tried to play off of the maternal instincts of the women he’d meet — making reference to how much laundry he had that needed to be done, things like that,” Mr. Coleman said.

“Looking back, it was all part of a technique,” said Vernon Silver, Stuyvesant class of 1987 and a reporter for Bloomberg News in Rome whose book “The Lost Chalice” has just been published. “He wanted you to tell a story too.”

A common exercise was asking students to describe what they had done when they got home the night before. “He would coax it out of us, showing us how to pay attention to mundane but telling details,” Mr. Silver said. “I remember a dialogue with a shy student. The kid said, ‘I did my homework.’ McCourt said: ‘No, no, no. What did you do when you walked in? You went through a door, didn’t you? Did you have anything in your hands? A book bag? You didn’t carry it with you all night, did you? Did you hang it on a hook? Did you throw it across the room and your mom yelled at you for it?’ ”

And on and on, until enough significant glimpses of the boy’s life emerged to begin to paint a picture. In “Teacher Man” Mr. McCourt wrote that he came upon his method by accident on his second day at McKee. A joke he made about relations with sheep as a boy in Ireland did not go over well with his colleagues:

“In the teachers’ cafeteria veterans warned me, Son, tell ’em nothing about yourself. ...You’re the teacher. You have a right to privacy. The little buggers are diabolical. They are not, repeat not, your natural friends. ... You can never get back the bits and pieces of your life that stick in their little heads. Your life, man. It’s all you have.”

He went on: “The advice was wasted. ... My life saved my life.”

There was more to it than that. “Frank had us sing salacious folk songs, he had us write courtroom defenses of inanimate objects and recite recipes as poetry,” said Susan Jane Gilman, a former student who has published two memoirs. “Stuyvesant was largely for math-science types, it was learning by rote. Frank’s class was an intellectual freefall. I looked forward to it every day.”

Although his books were still years off, Mr. McCourt was famous at Stuyvesant throughout much of his time there. “If you were at the school and you wanted to write, you went to meet McCourt,” said David Lipsky, the author, most recently, of “Absolutely American,” a book about West Point. “It wasn’t ‘go read the complete works of J. D. Salinger.’ It was one word: McCourt.”

Many of his former students became writers, and many kept in touch with him. Ms. Gilman said: “We all thought, ‘He’s such a genius, what’s he doing just teaching us?’ Everybody thought he was destined for bigger and better things. And when he became a global phenomenon, we felt it was justice.”